


Heli Cases

by Black_Betty



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, F/M, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Science, Television, Unrepentant Fluff, dadneto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-15
Packaged: 2018-03-07 07:12:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3165995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Betty/pseuds/Black_Betty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Heli Cases" is a program on PBS whose aim is to educate on the rapidly increasing occurrence of genetic mutation in the general populous by breaking the complex science down into palatable, easy to digest pieces. </p><p>It is also the only thing that helps Erik get his fussy daughter to fall asleep. </p><p>(Featuring Dadneto, baby Lorna and the struggles of single fatherhood, and Charles as the host of a late night show about genetics.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is inspired by James reading children’s stories on television and murdering us all with his beautiful voice (watch the video here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b04xs4g0)

Erik reaches one end of the room and turns, treading a well-worn path back to the opposite wall. He lost track of how many times he’s circled the living room, but it’s enough that PBS has faded out of cartoons and into some kind of pledge drive.

He shifts Lorna to his shoulder to give his aching arms a break, and she wails louder, rubbing her wet cheek against his throat. He sighs. Of course his heart breaks a little every time his daughter cries, but after hours of it he feels a numb kind of despair. It’s times like this, when things seem hopeless and impossible, that he wonders if he’s cut out to be a single father. When he’s sure he should have let Magda’s parents take the baby when they requested custody.

“You’re alright,” he murmurs, rubbing her back. She hiccups and cries louder, her little hands clutching tightly into the collar of his shirt.

His eyes slide shut and, wearily, he turns another circuit around the room.

He’s gotten so used to the crying that he almost doesn’t recognize the sound of silence when it abruptly returns. He freezes in the middle of the room, holding his breath, frightened that it’s only a temporary reprieve, but Lorna remains quiet. He cranes his neck, peering down at her to see if she’s finally asleep. Her eyes are wet and open but she’s breathing evenly, one hand stuffed into her mouth.

He feels all the tension drain out of his neck and shoulders and bends over to turn off the TV, his mind exhausted and aching for bed. But as soon as the room is thrown into darkness, Lorna shuffles in his arms and whimpers, and then begins to cry again. He scrambles and clicks the power button again, breathing easy when the crying stops and Lorna relaxes, her gaze fixated on the bluish glow of the screen.

Erik holds himself still and then slowly, gingerly, settles himself on the floor. The TV is playing some kind of documentary series about genetics and at first he thinks it’s the colours that have her attention, or the movement of the images. But after she begins to get fussy during a montage about gene sequencing overlaid with instrumentals, he realizes she’s being soothed by the voice of the narrator.

He has to admit, it’s a pleasant voice, smooth and British, rounded vowels that sound like melted chocolate in an enthusiastic baritone. When it becomes apparent that PBS is playing back-to-back episodes of the series, Erik hits record on the PVR and falls asleep on the floor, Lorna propped on his chest, the two of them swaddled comfortably in a blanket.

***

Over the next few weeks  _Heli Cases_  becomes baseline noise in the apartment. Erik counts himself lucky that Lorna’s new obsession is a relatively interesting, albeit poorly named show about genetics rather than an endless loop of the same kid’s movie with horrifying puppets as protagonists. It helps that each episode covers, to some extent, the development of the mutant gene in an open minded and refreshingly celebratory way, rather than the kind of fear mongering propaganda Erik sees all too often on American news media. It also helps that the narrator, Professor X, has a voice like sweet sin, and the kind of brilliant, cheerful rhetoric that makes Erik sit up and pay attention, and long for an adult conversation that doesn’t revolve around airplane spoons or diaper changes.

Professor X is, in fact, a real professor who hails from Oxford University.  _Heli Cases_ is his side project with the BBC whose aim is to educate on the rapidly increasing occurrence of genetic mutation in the general populous by breaking the complex science down into palatable, easy to digest pieces. Erik knows this because he had pulled up the show’s synopsis on the BBC website and got into four separate arguments on the comments board with inarticulate, ignorant assholes. He also looked at the Oxford faculty directory, as well as a number of articles written by Professor Xavier in both academic and social forums on education, genetics, and mutation.

It is possible that Erik is as obsessed as Lorna is, though on a less visceral, auditory level. It has become a nightly occurrence for the two of them to curl up on the couch and watch the program, Lorna drifting off to the sound of Professor Xavier excitedly describing cell mitosis or the extinction of homo neanderthalensis, Erik riveted until the last word and aching to dissect some of Xavier’s discourse.

He feels he owes Xavier a debt of gratitude, not only for helping him survive the initial few months of fatherhood when he felt achingly isolated and alone, but also for sparking something in him that had been dead since he dropped out of grad school to take care of Magda. Something about  _Heli Cases_  makes his mind stir and spark, the permanent exhaustion shaken from his brain like dirt flaking off an artifact pulled from deep underground.

When he sees that Professor Charles Xavier is giving a free lecture at Columbia, he thinks he should probably go and see the man in person.

 “What do you think bean? Should we go and see the man with the handsome voice?”

He senses approval in the way she scoops up another sticky handful of cheerios and shoves them in her mouth.

***

Some people might be embarrassed about going to a university lecture with a baby strapped to their chest, but Erik lost his sense of shame a long, long time ago. Plus, he loves his kid way too much to be remotely or abstractly ashamed of her. He rattles a few metal chairs when people look at him sideways and he makes his way down the steps of the lecture hall, seating himself by a door just in case they need to make a hasty diaper-related exit.

The hall is busier than he thought it would be for a lecture by a foreign professor of genetics with a relative obscure PBS show. By the time the scheduled conference is about to begin there is standing room only, students sitting on the steps and tucked into the doorways, chattering excitedly. There is more than one visible mutation in the crowd and Erik feels a little buzz of excitement to see so many of them in one place. Lorna fusses on his lap and kicks her legs, distracted by the increasing volume of noise in the room and he watches her carefully, eager to avoid a melt down. He hugs her a little closer to his chest, pressing a kiss against her hair, and she squirms against him.

Luckily she gets distracted by a tall girl with a massive blue afro slouched in the seat next to them and by the time an elderly man in a suit steps up to the podium, Lorna has her fingers happily tangled in blue curls.

“Sorry,” Erik whispers to the girl as the crowd quiets, detaching Lorna’s hands from her hair.

 “No worries,” the girl whispers back. She smiles at Lorna and gestures at her lime coloured wisps of hair, “I was thinking of going green next time.”

 Unfortunately the sentiment is lost on Lorna who begins to cry, fighting against Erik’s hands and reaching for the girl again. People begin shooting them dirty looks and Erik can’t even bring himself to return them, suddenly panicked and desperately trying to shush Lorna, who only sobs louder.

He glances up at the old man droning incomprehensibly into the microphone and thinks,  _fuck it_ , begins to gather his things and make his way toward the exit.

 By the time he gets to the doors Lorna’s wailing has reached a fever pitch and Erik can feel his cheeks burning as he steps over and around the people crowding the door, hanging onto his jacket with two fingers and fumbling Lorna’s bag.

 “Thank you Professor Naylor,” a voice says over the sudden sound of applause that momentarily drowns out Lorna’s tears, “though I’m not entirely sure I’m deserving of such high praise.” Lorna’s sobbing fades away into soft sniffles and Erik feels her sag against his chest.  

 Erik breathes a sigh of relief. He knows that voice. He’d know that voice anywhere. He backtracks toward his seat, grimacing at people here and there as he steps on them, and glances toward the stage. He’d wondered what Professor Xavier might look like after his page on the Oxford faculty directory had been frustratingly blank and uninformative. He’d idly imagined a kind of austere, elderly gentleman to match the posh accent, but the person speaking on stage is less formal and old, and more young and sexy. He’s so young and sexy, in fact, that Erik stumbles and nearly tramples the girl with blue hair who is kindly saving his seat.

“Thanks,” he mutters, checking on Lorna to make sure she’s okay. Her eyes are wide and riveted on the stage, her thumb tucked firmly in her mouth and Erik readjusts her on his lap and tries to pay attention, though it’s still disconcerting matching Xavier’s voice with his face.

 Over the course of the hour, Erik spends less time constructing arguments against Xavier’s theories of mutant socialization and education and more time tracking the broad width of his shoulders under his heavy cardigan, and the way the colour of the knit highlights his eyes, the blue apparent even to those sitting at the back of the lecture hall.  Xavier has a great ass and a gorgeous red mouth, the silky brown hair that only British men seem capable of growing and looks to be about 25 years old.  Erik’s brain is working to reconcile him though his libido feels nothing but enthusiasm about this strange turn of events.

 Xavier’s voice is just the same though, and Lorna is asleep within 10 minutes, breathing heavily against Erik’s chest. 

She wakes again when the lecture is over and the crowd shifts and stands, chatter breaking out as people pull on their coats and make their way toward the door.

 A line is forming at the stage and Erik watches as Xavier crouches down to speak to the closest person, his gaze intimate and attentive. Erik spares a moment to consider joining the queue and having those brilliant blue eyes focused on him, but discards the thought when Lorna began to fuss. He gathered his things and pushes his way outside, heading for the washroom only to find a sad lack of changing tables in the men’s room, as per usual. He ends up tucking himself into a corner outside the lecture hall, away from the streaming crowd, and pulling Lorna’s blanket from her bag to throw over his leather jacket.

“Sorry bean,” he murmurs as he sets her down, “looks like we’re roughing it.”

 He’s finished changing her and is in the middle of digging through her diaper bag for a bottle when a familiar voice says,

“That’s marvelous.”

He looks over his shoulder and sees Charles Xavier standing behind him with one hand in his pocket, the other wrapped around the handle of a brown leather briefcase. He’s smiling at Lorna in delight and when he turns that smile on Erik, Erik’s mouth goes dry.

“Is it telekinesis?”

Erik looks at Lorna and watches as she bats at the coins floating in idle circles above her head. He’s so used to using his power as a way to occupy her, he forgot he was even doing it.

“It’s the metal,” he says, reaching out his hand and making the coins swoop in a tight maneuver that makes Lorna scream with delight. 

“It’s nice to have such an appreciative audience,” Xavier laughs, “ I’m afraid she didn’t have quite the same reaction to my presentation.”

Erik collects the coins in one hand and shoves them into his pocket before picking Lorna up and standing. Xavier is short, he notes with a strange kind of visceral appreciation. He’s the kind of short that would fit nicely under his arm.

“Does she get her mutation from you?” Xavier asks, gesturing at Lorna’s hair, “Or is her mother a mutant too?”

Erik settles the baby in his arms and runs a hand over the disheveled green strands. It’s so short and fine he can never manage to do anything with it. He hopes it curls like Magda’s when it’s eventually long enough, though that will present a whole new set of hairdressing problems.

“Her mother was baseline,” Erik responds and if Xavier notices the use of past tense, he doesn’t react.

“It’s beautiful,” he says, reaching a hand out to touch her hair and freezing midway through the motion, glancing at Erik. By this time Lorna has recognized him on some innate level and pushes away from Erik, leaning toward him and stretching her little arms out. Xavier does what most people do when confronted with a baby reaching for them: he sets his briefcase down and instinctively, and somewhat awkwardly, reaches toward her. Erik transfers her into his arms with a grin. Xavier looks about as uncomfortable as Erik hoped he would, clutching Lorna in stiff arms as she examines him.

“Er—Hello there,” he says, scrunching up his face as Lorna grabs his nose. “You’re baby seems to like me,” he says to Erik who is trying not to laugh, unsuccessfully. He detaches Lorna’s hand from Xavier’s face and rearranges her legs so she’s more comfortably positioned in his arms.

“It’s a long story,” he says, watching as Charles relaxes somewhat and smiles down at Lorna who gazes at him in fascination. Erik doesn’t blame her—those blue eyes are mesmerizing. “Basically you read her bedtime stories for the last two months.”

“I what?” Charles says looking up at Erik in surprise.

“We’re fans of the show,” he explains, and watches as Charles’ face lights up.

“You are? Oh that’s wonderful! Thank you! We worked very hard on it, you know.”

Lorna picks up on his enthusiasm and laughs, clapping her hands together clumsily. Charles looks at her thoughtfully and bounces her cautiously in his arms.

“You know, I have three PhDs and making a baby laugh might be my biggest accomplishment.

Erik feels his heart clench and realizes he might in trouble, especially with the way Charles is holding Lorna like she’s the most precious thing in the universe.

“What’s her name?” He asks and when Erik tells him, he beams at her and says “Hello Lorna,” in his perfect voice and Erik  _knows_  he’s in trouble.

“I’m sorry,” Xavier says suddenly, his gaze snapping up to Erik, “I didn’t even ask for your name!”

“I figured you knew it already because of the—“ he gestures at his head awkwardly and watches, astonished, as a beautiful red blush blooms over Xavier’s cheeks and down his throat.

“Yes, well,” he clears his throat and preoccupies himself with Lorna who is pulling at the buttons on his shirt. “I must admit I did take a peek when I saw the two of you sitting in the audience. I don’t get many babies at my lectures, and at the beginning you were quite distressed…” he frowns, “I apologize if that makes you uncomfortable, Erik.”

“I’ve always wondered,” Erik says, detaching Lorna’s hand from Charles’ button. “What does a baby’s mind feel like?”

 When he looks at Charles again, his frown has faded and his expression is bright and beaming.

“I…it’s wonderful. More colour and shape than anything concrete, but it’s always beautifully simple and clear.” Lorna wriggles against him and Charles winces, awkwardly readjusting her in his arms. Erik takes pity on him and gently lifts her out of his grasp, their bodies sliding along one another as they maneuver her from Charles’ arms to Erik’s.

“Sorry,” Charles says, rotating his shoulder with a grimace, “No offence intended Lorna, but how does such a little thing weigh so much?”

Erik laughs and lifts her up against his chest where she promptly tucks her face into his throat, her favourite hiding spot. 

“You get used to it,” he says, patting her on the back, “She’s probably the best upper body workout I’ve ever had.” He doesn’t miss the way Charles’ eyes flicker to his arms, bare under the sleeves of his t-shirt.

“Hey, would you like to get a coffee?” he asks before he can talk himself out of it. “I wouldn’t mind hearing more about your telepathy?” Charles looks startled for a moment before he nods, vigorously.

“Yes, um—yes,” he ducks around Erik and picks up Lorna’s blanket, carefully folding it. “I don’t know any coffee places around here, but I’m eager to find out for next year. I’m afraid I’m useless without tea in the morning.”

“Next year?” Erik asks, pointing toward the bag when Charles holds the folded blanket out.

“They’ve offered me a position at Columbia,” Charles says, grinning broadly enough that he must have been told recently. He picks up the bag and loops it over his shoulder, collecting Erik’s jacket from the ground and shaking it off. He looks so natural there, holding their things as though he’s had his hands on them for years.

“Congratulations,” Erik says, taking his jacket and taking care to brush Charles’ hand. “I’m glad you’re sticking around.” They smile at each other for long enough that it becomes silly and awkward and then Erik says, “I’ll show you the best place to get coffee on campus.”


	2. Later On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the really lovely response to the first part!!! You made me so happy, I wrote more ridiculous, romantic fluff while at work today :DDD

 

Of course, the first night Charles stays over Erik shamelessly exploits him.

Charles is kissing a slow line down Erik’s stomach when the baby monitor lights up and plaintive sobbing crackles through the small speaker. Erik is so dizzy with lust he’s tempted to ignore it, but Charles sits back.

“Oh,” he whispers, “the baby—“

“It’s fine,” Erik gasps, clutching at the sheets, “We’re going through sleep training—you just have to let them cry it out.” He tangles a hand in Charles’ hair and watches as Charles’ pupils dilate. “Come on,” he says, guiding him back to his aching cock. It’s been so long since he’s been with anyone and the sight of Charles kneeling between his legs, hair tousled, shirt unbuttoned, his lips red and wet is nearly enough to push him over the edge.

Lorna cries louder.

 “She’s so sad,” Charles says, sounding genuinely distressed himself. He slides his hands up Erik’s thighs. “Maybe you should go and check on her?”

 Erik groans and collapses backwards on the mattress, covering his face with his hands and willing the pulse of arousal away from his cock. When he glances toward the end of the bed Charles is still kneeling on the floor, chewing on his lip and glancing over at the monitor.

 “Fine,” Erik says, more bluntly than he means to, but he’s more than a little frustrated and his body is aching. He stands and pulls his jeans back on, grunting as he shoves his cock into the restrictive denim. He heads down the shadowed hallway to Lorna’s room and finds her standing in her crib, her little face red and crumpled as she sobs. He sighs and clicks on the stained glass lamp in the corner, preparing for a long haul. 

“Did it have to be tonight?” he asks her, lifting her from the crib. “You knew this was my big chance, Green Bean.”

She continues to cry, her mouth wet and open against his bare shoulder. 

He bounces her gently and paces back and forth in front of the crib. There is a soft noise from the corridor and Erik turns to see Charles standing there, watching them apprehensively.

“Should I go?” he asks quietly. He’s not dressed to leave, still in his boxers, his shirt wrinkled and hanging open, but his hands are worrying at his unbuttoned cuffs and his leg muscles seem coiled and tense, ready to flee.

“Are you kidding me?” Erik says, heading to the door and catching Charles around the wrist before he can escape, hauling him into the room. He pulls him over to the rocking chair and pushes him down with enough force that the chair rocks backward and bumps against the wall.

“Pick a book,” he says, pointing at the low bookshelf wedged in between the chair and the change table. Baffled, Charles peruses the selection and Erik grabs the thick yellow-knit blanket from the crib to drape over Charles’ lap, tucking it gently around his bare thighs.

“For your sake and mine,” he murmurs, pressing a swift, firm kiss against his forehead. When he pulls back Charles looks slightly stunned, blinking up at him with his impossible eyes, one hand holding a battered anthology of Shel Silverstein. Lorna’s crying suddenly reaches a new decibel level and Erik gestures at the book,

“Whenever you’re ready, Professor.”

Charles snaps out of his daze and looks down at the book in his hand, smiling softly as he rubs a hand over the cover. He folds it open and flips through the pages, stopping when he finds what he’s looking for. He awkwardly clears his throat and begins to read:

 

_There is a place where the sidewalk ends_

_And before the street begins,_

_And there the grass grows soft and white,_

_And there the sun burns crimson bright,_

_And there the moon-bird rests from his flight_

_To cool in the peppermint wind._

 

He slows as he finishes the first stanza and Lorna continues to cry.

 “Maybe I’m not doing it right? Do you want to give it a go?” he asks, holding the book out to Erik. His mouth pulls down unhappily. “Or I could maybe talk about my research? You said that worked before—“

 “Just keep reading, Charles.” Erik says, reaching out one foot to kick teasingly at his knee. “You’re doing fine, trust me.”

Charles huffs, and looks down at the book again.

 

_Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black_

_And the dark street winds and bends_.

 

His voice is steadier now, and low, his accent curling around each syllable tenderly like waves washing over polished stones. He slows each word down and gives it just enough weight, and Erik feels himself falling into a trance, the entire, quiet room made up just of Charles’ voice and the golden light from the lamp casting multicoloured shadows on the walls.

 

_Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow_

_We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,_

_And watch where the chalk-white arrows go_

_To the place where the sidewalk ends._

He pauses again and the three of them are swallowed in silence. Erik is breathing in sync with Lorna, her heartbeat slowing to a calm rhythm, her eyelashes dragging wet trails across his throat.

“It worked,” Charles whispers. Erik looks up to share a conspiratorial smile and is struck dumb by Charles’ expression, proud and thrilled and full to the brim with bright light.

“Yeah,” he says, finally, and then, “Come here for a minute.”

When Charles gets close he wraps a hand around the back of his neck and reels him in, kisses him hard enough that some of that light seems to travel through them, filling Erik’s stomach with warmth. He let’s Charles up to breathe and then kisses him again on the corner of his mouth.

“Read us another one?” He glances down at Lorna, whose eyelids are growing heavy. “Just to be sure?”

***

They never get around to having sex. Charles reads “Peanut Butter Sandwich” and “Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me Too,” and does voices for all the characters, even though Lorna has already fallen asleep. Erik watches him, and laughs, and realizes with a painful wrench that he already loves Charles in the plain, undeniable way you come to love someone simply because they are lovely.

He tucks Lorna in by himself because Charles is still awkward around the baby, and when he gets back to his bedroom Charles is standing abstractly by his discarded clothes as though he isn’t sure whether to put them on or not.

“You can sleep here,” Erik says, “if you want?” Charles looks relieved and nods, shedding his shirt and leaving his boxers on, and crawling under the covers.

Erik slips out of his jeans and pulls on a pair of underwear, suddenly exhausted. He climbs in behind Charles, shoving him over and claiming he’s on the wrong side of the bed as an excuse to tangle their limbs together. When they’re pressed close under the sheets Erik rubs one hand over Charles’ back, smiling as he complains about cold fingers.

“We could still..” Charles trails off and runs his fingers slowly down Erik’s chest.

“We could,” Erik agrees, “Or we could wait until tomorrow?”

Charles leans back to look at him, though Erik can’t see a thing through the darkness.

Finally Charles says,

“Okay,” and then quieter, “tomorrow,” before leaning in to give Erik a kiss goodnight.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem is "Where the Sidewalk Ends" by Shel Silverstein, which my mom and dad used to read to me when I was little :DD The other poems are also by Silverstein. I can't recommend him highly enough <3


	3. Another Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Charles finds out that things are not always easy...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written for Roz as a belated birthday present!!! I hope you like it, dear!!! Thanks for your patience and encouragement :DDDDDDDD

 

“You’ll be fine, Erik.”

Charles sounds so certain, he almost believes him. “You’re marvelous. How could they not see how marvelous you are?”

Erik frowns at his own reflection and the garbled mess he’s making of his tie.

“You only think I’m ‘marvelous’ because I had your cock in my mouth an hour ago.”

Charles laughs.

“Well, I wouldn’t recommend that tactic for a job interview,” he sighs contentedly, “Though it was...very, very nice.”

 Erik turns around to glower at him, but the sight of Charles in his bed, lounging insouciantly in the sheets, is enough to dissipate most of the tension in his shoulders and jaw.

“You’re not helping,” he says, putting his hands on his hips. He stubbornly leaves them there even when Charles rolls over and crawls toward him and his palms are itching to reach out and pin him down. Charles is wearing pinstriped pajama bottoms and nothing else, and Erik wants to run his hands over each coiled muscle, each expanse of pale, freckled skin. Would do it, happily, if he wasn’t going to be late.

Charles arrives at the edge of the bed and reaches out imploringly, and eventually Erik relents, begrudgingly stepping forward so that Charles can fix his tie.

“You’re going to do great,” Charles says, suddenly serious, his eyes flicking up from where his hands are untangling silk cloth. Erik finds himself pinned under his determined gaze.

“Piotr is a smart man, he’s going to see your value immediately.”

Erik bites back the sharp remark sitting on his tongue about how “Piotr” wouldn’t have looked at his resume twice if it hadn’t been for Charles putting in a good word. It’s been a long time since he finished his engineering degree. Longer still since he interviewed much less _applied_ for a job. He feels slightly gross about using Charles’ connections, but they had already had that long and bitter fight. Anyways, he feels grosser about using government subsidies and Lorna’s inheritance from Madga to pay their bills. It’s time to go back to work.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay with Lorna?” he asks, sliding his hands down Charles’ back to squeeze his ass, irresistible under the threadbare pants. “It’s probably not too late to call Kitty, I’m pretty sure she has afternoon classes on Mondays--”

“Everything will be fine,” Charles says confidently, kissing him firmly on the mouth before herding him out the door.

And it is fine.

He arrives ten minutes early to the interview and sweats through his shirtsleeves in the waiting room. Rasputin is young but serious and punctual and he shakes Erik’s hand with a firm, unrelenting grip. They spend more time talking about Charles, who was Rasputin’s TA during his time at Harvard, and their symbiotic mutations (Rasputin can turn his body into organic steel), than they do the typical interview questions, and Erik leaves feeling relieved. He overanalyzes every aspect of their meeting on the trip home, turning over his responses looking for fault lines or holes, and by the time he arrives back at his own doorstep he’s exhausted and looking forward to seeing Charles’ smiling face and squishing Lorna hello.

 

When he opens the door, all he sees is chaos.

 

There are books everywhere, scattered all throughout the hallway and across the living room floor, some haphazardly placed on the corners of tables, ready to topple over, others open and on their backs with the pages fanned apart. The bin of toys in the corner has toppled over and spilled stuffed animals and wooden cars and colourful blocks in a cascade across the area rug in the front of the television which is playing a slowly bouncing DVD logo.

He turns off the TV and follows the trail of destruction to the kitchen where he finds Charles and Lorna sitting on the floor amidst a mountain of spilled Cheerios. Lorna looks happy enough wearing only a diaper, picking each Cheerio up off the linoleum with chubby fingers and inspecting it carefully before shoving it into her mouth. Charles is sitting next to her looking strangely deflated, his sweater vest stained suspiciously, and his hair a wild wreck, his eyes red-rimmed and exhausted.

 “What the hell happened??” Erik asks, his coat and bag falling on to the kitchen table with a loud clatter.

Charles jumps at the sound and looks up at him, startled. 

“Erik!” He begins to quickly gather up the scatter Cheerios, “Hi! You’re here—how did it go?”

Erik stares down at him, incredulous.

“I was only gone for a couple of hours. How...? What...?” Charles looks around at the mess as though seeing it for the first time and looks back at Erik, panicked. Lorna, oblivious, reaches into Charles’ hand and pulls out two suitable Cheerios, holding them up to show Erik. He bends over and picks her up, and Charles scrambles to his feet next to them, hovering by Erik’s elbow.

“Well, Lorna was a bit upset when you left—does that always happen? Anyways things got a bit sticky, but everything’s fine!” He looks and sounds like he’s on the edge of hysteria, his smile cracking around the edges. Lorna mashes her sticky hand against Erik’s cheek.

“Okay,” he says slowly. The wider Charles smiles, the more he looks about ready to burst into a thousand pieces. He looks down at Lorna instead.

“Let’s get you washed up, shall we?”

He figures Charles needs a moment to himself, so he takes his time with the bath, letting Lorna play with her whales until her toes start to prune. By the time he’s dried her off and put her in her favourite crocodile onesie, the Cheerios have been cleared off a kitchen floor that looks freshly scrubbed and the books are stacked neatly back on the bookshelf. He finds Charles putting the last of the toys back in the chest.

“Thanks,” Erik says, placing Lorna down into the play pen where she promptly attacks her stuffed bears, “You didn’t have to do that by yourself.”

“Of course I did,” Charles says, his eyes fixed on the blocks as he replaces them one by one in order of colour. His shoulders are hunched over and when Erik comes to sit next to him on the floor he notices how tense his body is, his lower lip caught tightly between his teeth.

“Hey,“ he says, placing his hand on his back. Charles is all muscle through the shoulders, but he feels deceptively fragile under his palm. “Everything okay?”

Charles shakes his head slightly and smiles at him, a strained and painful thing. 

“Yes of course. Tell me about your interview. Does Piotr still have that horrible mustache—“

“Charles,” Erik cuts in, fixing him with a stern look that wilts Charles’ defenses. He sags and looks back at the toy bin, his hands clutched tightly along the edge.

“It was really bad,” he says miserably. His eyes widen and he looks at Erik, worried, “Not that Lorna is bad! Lorna is wonderful! But she was crying and crying and I couldn’t get her to stop, I tried reading to her and feeding and changing her and nothing worked—“ His face crumples and Erik feels his heart breaking. “I’m just—I’ve never really been truly bad at anything before, and to be bad at _this_ when it’s so important—“ he covers his face with one hand, and takes a huge, fractured breath. “I feel like such a failure.”

“No—are you kidding me?” Erik scoots closer to him along the floor, “You’re not a failure!” Charles’s eyes are huge and sad and when a big tear rolls out of one and down his cheek, Erik flails for a minute, unsure of what to do. He tries to pull him into a hug, but Charles resists, rubbing at his eyes in frustration and dashing his stubborn tears.

“Will you—Just—“ he tugs at him a little harder. “Let me hug you, dammit!”

Finally Charles relents and melts against him, and Erik is able to squeeze him tightly with both arms.

After a minute of just holding Charles and trying to figure out the right thing to say, he murmurs into Charles’ hair,

“Did I ever tell you the full story about how I discovered your show?”

Charles shakes his head.

“After Magda died and it was just me and Lorna, I was a wreck. Just—a disaster. I was in way over my head. Lorna cried all the time and we had no money and I was sure I was a terrible father.”

“You’re a great father!” Charles protests, pushing against him to look up at his face earnestly.

“Thanks,” he says, and before Charles can gain momentum, “but shut up for a minute and let me finish comforting you.” Charles scowls and allows himself to be hugged again.

 “I felt like your show saved my life. It was the only thing that calmed her down. And for a while I wondered why a television show was a more successful parent than I was.” Charles makes a little murmur of disagreement, but Erik pushes on.

“But eventually I realized--babies cry. That’s what they do. It’s in the job description.” Charles huffs a wet laugh against his chest. “Sometimes you do everything right and they _still_ cry.”

Charles leans back and Erik lets him go.

“So you’re saying I overreacted?” he asks, giving Erik a rueful smile. Erik grabs his hand and locks their fingers together.

“No, I’m saying I’ve been there. It’s all part of raising a child.”

He says it before he even thinks about the words, and his stomach seizes up. They haven’t really talked about what this thing between them is, but he knows that Charles fits into their life kind of perfectly and he wants to keep him around for as long as he can.

The looks on Charles’ face is inscrutable for a moment, and Erik wonders if he's reading his mind, if he saw how much Erik wants to keep him. Erik panics for a moment, sure he's ruined everything and then suddenly Charles is smiling fiercely, his eyes still bright with tears.  

“Okay,” he says, squeezing Erik’s hand and laughing a little. “I guess I’m going to have to get used to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm out of ideas (for now!!), but I'm more than willing to take suggestions if there's something you'd like to see!! I can't promise anything, but maybe inspiration with strike :DD

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr, if you're interested in more little snippets of stuff like this from my tired brain, or if you just want to come and hang out :DDD (black--betty.tumblr.com)


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